


Trigger

by Nux



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gunplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nux/pseuds/Nux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo is mesmerized by Peacekeeper and he tries to deny his desires. It backfires, and McCree figures out what's been bothering the archer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger

They had been gathered at Gibraltar for about three weeks when Hanzo sees McCree pick apart Peacekeeper for the first time. That day, he can’t help but feel transfixed. How easily she’s taken apart, lying in pieces on one of the tables in the mess hall. Hanzo is fairly sure the cowboy would never hear the end of it from Doctor Ziegler, should she find out about the filthiness going on where they usually gather to eat. For a split second he feels something akin to amazement as he watches the calloused hands work on each piece with meticulous care. 

McCree doesn’t even notice him as Hanzo stands across the room, just watching. His gaze lingers for a few more seconds before he crosses the space between them to sit down opposite of McCree. The man hums softly in acknowledgement, tipping his head a little. He’s not wearing his hat, Hanzo notes. 

“Looks hard,” he comments, eying the pieces on the table. 

“Nah. She’s pretty easy to work with,  I’d say,” McCree voices softly, still not looking up from the pieces he’s working on as he slowly puts Peacekeeper back together. Hanzo watches, unable to tear his gaze away as the revolver slowly but surely turns back into the shape he is accustomed to seeing. He watches McCree’s hands, oiled up and greasy, effortlessly working the gun. Hanzo can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine the very second the revolver just  _ clicks _ together.

“You just have to be nice to her.” At that, McCree lifts his gaze and grins lopsidedly, eyes crinkling at the corners, looking so very pleased with himself as he places Peacekeeper on the table again to wipe his hands on the front of his pants. 

 

†

  
  


It’s a couple of months later that he walks in on McCree oiling up Peacekeeper, but this time he stays still and just watches. McCree’s fingers glide easily along the barrel of the revolver, moves over the sight of her and then back again. There’s once again a shiver running down Hanzo’s spine as he watches McCree turn the revolver over in his hands. She seems so light and so easy in the man’s grip. However, Hanzo knows that isn’t quite true; there’s more than meets the eye. Despite the ease of McCree’s movements, the weight of the gun is heavy in the cowboy’s hands. 

He stands there in the doorway and watches McCree as the man happily wipes Peacekeeper down. The metal glistens and shines brightly as she’s turned over again, and Hanzo can’t tear his gaze away. He feels the desperate need to hold the revolver surge through him, to just touch her, turn her over in his own hands. He wants to see the revolver glide across  the skin of his own bare hands, just as smoothly as she is handled by McCree. His skin tingles at the thought and he turns on his heel, breath elevated and heart rate picking up. 

In an attempt to mask his desire, Hanzo works with his bow. He retreats to the training grounds and fires arrow after arrow into a line of targets. They all hit dead centre, but he still can’t shake the thoughts of Peacekeeper from his mind as he draws the string of his bow. He can’t shake from his mind the image of the revolver, heavy and shining when the sun beats down on the metal.

Hanzo draws again, takes a deep breath and releases. The arrow glides through the air and hits the ground instead of the target, its arrowhead lodged deep into the earth.

If he’s more irritated than usual that evening when they all gather for dinner in the mess hall, no one of the rest of the team asks about it. They all steer clear from him, keeping their distance, as they should. Only McCree, with Peacekeeper at his hip, is oblivious as he waltzes after him like a puppy. The revolver taunts Hanzo, but he refuses to  acknowledge his secret fixation. He can’t bring himself to ask McCree about the gun in fear of being ridiculed, or worse, shunned.

He tries to forget it.   
  


†

  
  


It’s a few days later when, in search for McCree to talk about their up-coming mission, he stumbles upon Peacekeeper again. 

Hanzo had been looking for the American all over the base, and as a last try to find him he had ended up outside the man’s quarters. He called out the cowboy’s name but got no answer. He lifted a hand to knock on the door only for it to glide right open under the slight pressure. Taking a few steps inside, he stops short in the middle of the room – there is the gun, lying on the bed, unguarded. When he turns a little he can hear the shower running, and then he hears it: the slightly off-key singing coming from McCree, something about jingle-jangle and spurs. 

Hanzo  ignores the man for the time being and then focuses his attention solely on where the revolver lays innocently on the duvet. Hanzo doesn’t notice he’s biting lip until it hurts, a slight dulling ache as he stands there, gazing at Peacekeeper with McCree’s singing in the background. Time seems to slow down around him for a while, though the desire to feel the revolver against his skin never fades. There’s just a few feet separating them and he takes the chance, closing the distance between the revolver and his hand. 

The instant his fingertips touches the hard metal he trembles, unable to control the way his breathing rate slightly elevates as he drags his fingertips along the barrel of the revolver gently, just feeling it underneath his fingers. He goes slowly, the sensation suddenly overwhelming and he unconsciously bites at his bottom lip again, breath caught in his throat. 

He is caught completely off-guard when McCree exits the bathroom, still singing, though the words dies quickly when the American sees Hanzo. Hanzo jerks his hand back, swallowing thickly as he turns around to look at the man, trying his best to look indifferent.

“That’s…” McCree starts, waving his hand about, the other one holding onto the towel wrapped messily around his hips.

“I thought she had a smudge on her, from the oil you use.” The words leave him quickly, snappish even.

“Ah.” McCree hums, thoughtfully, and then he fixes Hanzo with a confused look before continuing. “So, I guess you ain’t here to see me in my birthday suit this time, darlin’?” McCree raises one eyebrow, and for a second the archer worries the American  _ knows _ about his desires. He certainly looks like he does. Hanzo shakes his head as he starts walking back to the door, only to be caught by McCree’s right hand, making him halt in his movements. 

“C’mon, we haven’t had time for ourselves in a long time. How about some ‘us’ time?” his voice is low, just a murmur in Hanzo’s ear, an exhale ghosting the shell of his ear. “Get that stick out of your ass.” McCree leans back and laughs at his own words, giving Hanzo one of those lopsided grins. Hanzo immediately shakes his head and breaks free of McCree’s hold on him to take a step back, fixing the cowboy with a pinched expression.

“Not today,” he says, though he can’t help the slight flush warming his cheeks at the suggestion McCree made. They had been putting it off for some time now, too busy with missions to spend time together. A tremor runs through him and he adverts his gaze. He needs to get out of here before he spills everything. “Now, if you will excuse me…” Hanzo speaks in a  low voice, tone snappy as he leaves the room before McCree can stop him.

Behind Hanzo, McCree just stands still, right hand extended while the left one holds his towel up. He’s confused to say the least, and he shifts his gaze between the door and Peacekeeper lying on his bed. After a while, he shrugs and shakes his head. He walks to the end of his bed to look at the revolver. She looks pristine, he notes, and he reaches out for her. 

“…This what he wants?” He mutters to himself, eyebrows arching as he turns the revolver over in his hand for a minute before putting her down again. McCree thinks that, maybe - just maybe, he is starting to figure out a thing or two about the other man at last.

 

†

  
  


It’s not until after a botched mission McCree realizes how much Hanzo  _ needs _ this, because they can’t keep going like this. The archer has been moody with everyone, incredibly short-tempered and overall acting like there’s a giant stick up his ass. A stick that needs to be removed, the American decides.

After their mission as soon as the rest of the team is gone ,  he pulls the archer aside in the hangar, and then shuts him up quickly by pressing their lips together in a soft, closed-mouth kiss. Hanzo has his hands raised and eyebrows drawn together and looks ready to spit fire. McCree, however, isn’t one to back down, so he pushes closer, pins the other man against the metal wall behind him, though his hold is gentle enough should Hanzo really want to break free. As Hanzo’s slight struggle eases and his body becomes more cooperative, McCree backs away, though still holding onto the archer by his shoulders. 

“Since you’ve been all pissy, I’d say we have to do this the hard way, darlin’.” There’s a grin playing on the American’s lips as he tips his head all the while urging Hanzo with a press of his hands to sink to his knees. 

The archer stares up at him, looking anything but pleased. “We’re in the middle of the hangar, if you haven’t noticed, McCree. Can’t it wait until we’re back in your quarters, at least?”

“C’mon, just trust me on this one.” McCree goads, flashing him a quick smile. “You’re gonna like it.”

“Fine.” Hanzo grits out. He releases a loud, aggravated sigh as he sinks lower, metal braces hitting the floor with a harsh sound. McCree let’s out a low whistle at the image – it’s not often he gets to see the archer like this and he intends to savour each moment as best as he can. He flashes the man another smile and shifts his weight a little, hands falling to his cherished belt. He catches the way Hanzo rolls his eyes at him, but he just shakes his head and gets the belt and his pants open, tugging them down enough to free himself. McCree shifts again, this time moving his hands from his belt to Hanzo’s hair, tugging at the yellow silk ribbon holding his hair up. It slips free easily and the archer’s dark hair fall effortlessly, smoothing down over his shoulders.  _ Such a pretty sight,  _ McCree thinks as he lets out a soft sigh, dropping the ribbon to the floor. His right hand reaches down, gently burrowing in the dark, silky strands to urge Hanzo forward.

The archer succumbs and leans closer, head tilted into McCree’s tender touch on his hair. A feeling of  _ need _ rushes through the American and he tightens the hold on the archer’s hair just so, gaze fixed on Hanzo intently.

“That’s it…” he hums softly, coaxing, holding onto a breath as Hanzo inches closer. The man is still nowhere relaxed, McCree can tell, but he had been telling him the truth – Hanzo would like what he had in store for him.

Tentatively, Hanzo closes the space between them, so obviously mindful to not be too eager. The moment McCree feels lips against his cock, the breath he had been holding in rushes out of him and he groans quietly to encourage the archer. 

The touch is soft and a bit hesitant at first, just the faintest touch of lips following the length of his cock down to the base. McCree watches as Hanzo lifts his hands, feels how he plants them on his thighs to draw him in closer – he’s not one to object and goes willingly, crowding in on Hanzo’s face.

The archer lifts himself up a little and closes his eyes as he moves closer, forehead leaning against McCree’s abdomen as he presses soft kisses to the tanned skin there, and then follows the trail of dark hair from the base of his cock up to his navel and back down again, gently grazing the skin with just a little hint of teeth. The American lets out a heavy, content breath and his hand twists lightly in Hanzo’s hair to pull the man even closer.

McCree shifts then.  _ Better to do it now before we’re too far gone _ , he thinks and reaches to his side, unholstering Peacekeeper.

The rustling makes Hanzo pull back as much as McCree’s hand in his hair lets him, and at first he fixes the man with an annoyed gaze until he sees Peacekeeper – just a few inches away from his face, its barrel staring down at him. McCree can see it, the way Hanzo swallows thickly, quivers in the cowboy’s grasp, and at once, McCree grins widely, cocking his head to the side.  _ He figured it out _ . McCree can see the tension bleeding away from the archer, can see him loosen up as he shifts a little, tilting the gun so that the tip of it presses gently against Hanzo’s throat – a presence that’s just barely there. 

The archer’s breath hitches and he bites down on his bottom lip, a muffled sound escaping him. 

“This what ya want,  _ darlin’ _ ?” McCree asks, slowly sliding the gun up Hanzo’s throat, following the tendons gently. He watches the archer shift on the floor, feels one hand leave his thigh only to reappear in Hanzo’s own lap, nestling between layers of fabric. McCree grins; he’ll take that as a  _ yes _ . 

McCree slides the gun tenderly along Hanzo’s jaw, just watching as the archer tries struggles to control himself. Well, not that McCree would let him succeed with that. He presses closer, moving the gun across his cheek until it stops at the man’s pursed lips.

“C’mon darlin’.” He coaxes, adding the slightest pressure. He sees the hesitation flicker in Hanzo’s eyes, and McCree lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. 

“She ain’t loaded. You can relax.” 

That is all the convincing Hanzo seems to need because his lips part around the muzzle of the revolver, tongue darting out to lick a wide stripe tentatively at the front sight, testing. McCree watches as Hanzo’s eyes fall shut again and the way he angles his head to the side, lavishing the barrel of the revolver with open-mouthed kisses. The American sees the tremble running through Hanzo where he sits and a quiet groan slips past the archers lips as he leans forward more, one hand holding onto the fabric of McCree’s pants. The archer licks the barrel, drags his tongue flat along it to get it wet and shiny.

McCree can’t help inhaling sharply at the sight in front of him, hardly believing that he’s watching Hanzo move so sinfully over the gun, lapping at it like he was a starved man.

The sound of rustling clothes brings McCree back from his daze, and he, sees Hanzo’s hand working on himself – his cock flushed a pretty pink and with pre-cum beading at the tip. McCree groans at the obscene sight and untangles his hand from Hanzo’s hair in favour of getting his hand on himself, suddenly feeling all too impatient and achingly hard, cock throbbing in his grip.

“D-damn—” McCree chokes out as he thrusts forward into his own hand, smearing pre-cum as he goes, unable to turn his gaze away from Hanzo. The other man moves along the barrel of the gun, small hushed moans escaping him as he presses closer to Peacekeeper. Hanzo licks the underside of the revolver, flattens his tongue against the rough edges – cheeks flushed a rosy red and chest heaving. McCree can see the trail of spit running down the archer’s jaw and beard, sees the bliss hiding in his eyes as he works his mouth over the revolver meticulously.

McCree nearly chokes on his own spit as his mouth waters at the sight, and for a second he considers throwing Peacekeeper to the side to just ravish Hanzo himself. Instead he lets out a heavy groan, fucking his own hand at a ruthless pace. He just wishes Hanzo could’ve told him about this deisre sooner instead of making him fumble in the dark. 

He staggers forward, pressing Peacekeeper closer to Hanzo, who lets out a muffled moan and arches up into his own curled fingers, spilling cum over his hand and haori. It takes McCree all but three more seconds to climax as he thrusts, groaning and coming harder than he’s ever done before. He breathes raggedly and staggers again as he’s momentarily blinded by the pleasure that rushes through him lightning-fast.

Once he’s cooled down a little, he tucks himself back into his pants. There’s a string of saliva that follows the movement of McCree lowering the revolver with a trembling hand.

“There. Ya feelin’ better now?” he rasps, blinking down at Hanzo who looks up at him blearily. It’s a marvellous picture – Hanzo with spit-slicked, swollen lips, flushed cheeks and hair sticking to his temples. McCree’s cock twitches weakly as Hanzo nods, closing his eyes, looking utterly debauched. 

“Good.” McCree huffs softly, holstering Peacekeeper after a few seconds. He’ll have to clean her later. “And darlin’? If ya ever have somethin’ on your mind… Don’t hesitate to tell me. Nothin’s ever too weird for me.” McCree grins as he sinks down to the floor, moving closer to Hanzo, leaning in to press their foreheads together gently.

Hanzo nods and reaches out to grasp at the cowboy’s tattered serape, tugging him in for a soft and slow kiss. It’s tender and sweet and McCree melts in Hanzo’s embrace, smiling against his lips.

“Thank you, Jesse.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Chopsticks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chopsticks) for being my beta, your help was most appreciated.


End file.
